By Howard Witt, Tribune Southwest Bureau
Chief, recently on assignment in Phoenix
Published November 13, 2004

PHOENIX
-- Depending on your point of view, the Shrine Auditorium in downtown
Phoenix was either the safest or most dangerous place in the nation one
Saturday night this fall.

Inside
the main banquet hall, some 400 assorted Arizonans, nearly all of them
with guns strapped to their hips, stashed in their waistbands or stuffed
in their purses, were gathered to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the
state's concealed carry law, which allows citizens to pack heat wherever
the sun doesn't shine.

All the major pro-gun groups
were represented, of course, including the National Rifle Association
and the Second Amendment Foundation. So were some quirkier offshoots,
such as the Second Amendment Sisters ("If you are a woman who owns
a gun, you have an equalizer") and Jews for the Preservation of Firearms
Ownership ("No nonsense. No compromise. No genocide."). There
was a man dressed as Wyatt Earp--the infamous Gunfight at the OK Corral
occurred in Tombstone--and another impersonating George Washington.

But what really distinguished
the crowd was how devoutly law-abiding it was--and exceedingly polite
too. As banquet organizer Alan Korwin jested in a news release after the
dinner: "Food Service Very Slow But Waiters All Still Alive."

That was, in fact, the message
the gathering last month was intended to drive home: Ordinary gun owners
don't fit the wild-eyed caricatures often drawn by anti-gun groups. And
they ought to be trusted to carry their weapons, openly or concealed,
wherever they wish.

"When the concealed
carry law first started, the news was filled with fear of blood in the
streets and Wild West shootouts at traffic lights, and all that turned
out to be virtually delusional," said Korwin, whose company publishes
manuals for gun owners.

Concealed weapons permits
are one of the lightning-rod issues in the ceaseless national debate over
gun control, provoking divisive passions between rural and urban America.
Here in the West, guns are about as common as bow ties are in Washington,
D.C. But just as no self-respecting Arizonan would be caught dead wearing
a bow tie, many residents of big cities such as Washington fear being
caught dead by people carrying concealed weapons.

Jeanne Carey, 64, understands
the conflict. She was a lifelong Chicago resident--and an ardent foe of
guns--until she moved to Phoenix two years ago.

"This is my home
now, and you gotta get with the program," she said. "I
went out and bought a Glock. Everybody has one. It's a fashion statement."

Only five states, Illinois
among them, prohibit private citizens from carrying concealed weapons.
In 11 others, police may deny permits based on their
discretion. The other 34 states, like Arizona, allow any law-abiding citizen
to obtain permission to carry a concealed weapon, although usually a background
check and a gun-safety course are required. Pro-gun activists would like
to see concealed weapons allowed without restriction nationwide.

Proponents contend that concealed
weapons make communities safer by introducing the element of doubt: Criminals
never know whether a potential victim might have a pistol up his sleeve.
The laws also empower private citizens to protect themselves and others
from harm. And the required training impresses upon gun owners just how
carefully they must decide whether to draw their weapons.

Pro-gun Web sites are filled
with stories of gun owners around the country using their concealed weapons
to ward off criminals, and the banquet honored several with Human Right
of Self-Defense Awards. One of the recipients was 72-year-old Zelda Hunt
of Tucson who stopped a burglar from breaking into her home with the aid
of her .22 revolver.

But gun-control advocates
scoff at such anecdotes, and counter with their own.

Gerry Anderson, executive
director of Arizonans for Gun Safety, noted the case of a mentally ill
Phoenix man whose family had begged state authorities to hospitalize him,
to no avail. Last summer the man purchased a gun and obtained a concealed
weapons permit; in August he shot three Phoenix police officers, killing
two, before he committed suicide.

"It's very hard
to get hard evidence about this, but most studies show that availability
of a firearm can turn a fistfight into a gunfight," Anderson
said.

The truth is hard to discern.
Most law-enforcement agencies do not rigorously collect data that might
reveal whether concealed weapons holders are more or less likely to be
involved in crimes--or in stopping them.

But Arizona authorities report
that as of June 2003, out of 67,689 concealed weapons permits issued,
only about 1,400, or less than 2 percent, had been suspended or revoked.

Much of the talk at the banquet,
however, centered on other concerns, such as the awkwardness of ordering
business suits that can accommodate a holster in the waistband.

"If you go to Men's
Wearhouse, they want to know why you want those 2 extra inches,"
explained Todd Rathner, an Arizona member of the NRA's national board
of directors.